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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29603805">The Stag and her Doe</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cygnette/pseuds/cygnette'>cygnette</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gentleman Jack (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Gay, ND Ann Walker, catherine rawson is a very good friend, she plays bass</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:40:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,918</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29603805</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cygnette/pseuds/cygnette</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU. Anne Lister, among other things, owns a bar. Ann Walker, among other things, plays bass. Both are quasi-useless lesbians.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anne Lister (1791-1840)/Ann Walker (1803-1854)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This just...came out. I'm having a hard time piecing together the expository parts of my other GJ fic so hope you all enjoy this one in the waiting. (all typos are my own)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Anne Lister, Stag’s Head proprietor and de facto stag of Halifax, was through with fruitless dalliances--or so she had mused to the pages of her diary. Of course, Anne knew better than to swear off pretty air things altogether, but perhaps she could get by without <em> love. </em> her most recent pursuit, Vere Hobarth, was now to be a Cameron and, for the first time, Mary didn’t bend when Anne tested her resolve. Anne tried to ignore the thought of a life without Mariana in her bed at all. But, perhaps the physiological satisfaction of the chase and its climax would be enough.</p><p>Tib Norcliffe called bullshit. As did everyone in Anne’s social circle. But Anne was bullheaded and would listen to nothing and no one, especially when it came to matters of romance. And so they all watched as winter turned to spring, with Anne taking a different girl home every weekend and insisting she was “always alright.” As a boss, she grew more demanding as she built her walls higher. More serious as her options narrowed and satisfaction became fleeting.  Tib would have told Anne to get laid, but she already <em> was </em>. Spring became summer. Tib had watched Anne frown over the ledgers with above-normal turpitude, and decided to bring out the big guns. But after two different lesbian bars, and one night of speed-dating that ended very badly, fall was approaching and Tib was running out of options, and fast. Hell, she even set up a Tinder for Anne, who was thoroughly ungrateful for it!</p><p>Now it was well into September--cuffing season was approaching. Tib clicked her tongue as she thought back on the last month. Imagine , <em>Anne Lister </em> using <em> Tinder </em>...What was she thinking? No matter, it was time to check on their headliners for tomorrow. </p><p>The Stag was not intended to be a musical venue--Anne had wanted a dignified establishment, all dark interiors and craft cocktails. But this was <em> Halifax </em> and they needed to stay open. Tib had suggested open mikes, which, as expected, Anne had vehemently opposed. So Tib started with jazz bands, then gradually worked her way towards a regular lineup of popular local acts. Anne could serve her fancy beers and artisanal cocktails--Tib would bring the crowds. That weekend, Crow Nest would be playing a set. They were their biggest act yet--they had a couple of tours under their belt, a solid fanbase, and were promoting a new album. Tib told Anne they would appeal to the Stag’s lion-rose-pocketwatch tattoo regulars, which was enough to gain her approval, surprisingly. Best not to look a gift horse in the mouth. </p><p> Just as Tib pulled up to Crow Nest’s Airbnb, their lead singer texted that his cousin would be standing in for their usual bass player. Tib grumbled and was prepared for the worst. Then, she saw his cousin. Blonde, sweet, feminine, and a rainbow sticker on her guitar case to boot. The gods had surely blessed her. Of course, the band sounded great. Tib was optimistic. She usually was. But she had a particularly good feeling about this one.</p><hr/><p>Tib’s optimism turned out to be well-founded. The following evening, the Stag was packed, mostly with newcomers. The bar had been swarmed since seven that evening, and Crow Nest wasn’t on until nine. Anne mentally congratulated Tib and considered, for a moment, giving them a raise. Or perhaps more autonomy. She would have to mull that over. </p><p>It wasn't long before the club erupted into raucous applause as Crow Nest took the stage. Anne hid her delight and snorted at her longtime friend and short-time colleague, who had launched herself over the bar and joined the small crowd in front of the stage. 15 minutes into the set, Anne conceded that Crow Nest was...not bad. Not her taste, but not bad. Twenty minutes into the set, Tib vaulted back over the bar. </p><p>“Get a load of that bass player!” she exclaimed as she grabbed a glass and started wiping. Anne glared at her, but Tib only grinned mischievously and wiggled her eyebrows. <em> That rake. </em>Tib, for her part, was thoroughly pleased with herself. The kid cleaned up well. For all that shyness in person, she sure knew how to slink around a stage and please a crowd. Hell, she was playing with more swagger and feeling than her lead-singer cousin could ever croon with! (Not that Tib would ever say that to poor Jeremiah, well, not while she was still somewhat sober.) </p><p>Anne’s glanced in the direction of the stage--and she immediately knew who Tib was talking about. With her blonde hair and <em>very short</em> sequin dress, she clearly stood out from her bandmates. This ethereal creature had serious chops, but Anne was focused only on the way she bit her lip and tensed her body as she played. </p><p>Tib noticed that the rag in Anne’s hand stilled for a moment and playfully elbowed her in the side. When Anne didn’t immediately respond, Tib knew she had just secured her holiday bonus and John Booth owed her a hundred quid. </p><p>The set ended on the hour and the bar was predictably flooded. Anne had vaguely hoped to see the pretty bass player again that night. <em> Let her pluck my strings for an evening. </em>she humored herself with that awful pickup line as she poured another beer and made the thousandth gin tonic of the night As the band reemerged into the crowd for autographs and partying, Anne kept looking out of the corner of her eye for that halo of blonde curls. But Crow Nest's stand-in bass guitarist never appeared. She loved her cousin, but she was not up to listening to his posturing or wading through a sea of people just to be hit on or invited to dance by some creep. She wasn't supposed to play this gig anyway. Just because stupid George broke his stupid wrist. </p><hr/><p>Ann Walker packed up her bass and was about to sneak out, but she was stopped by one of the Stag bartenders, the one with the undercut who had watched their rehearsal. "On the house, great job tonight!" Undercut Woman (Ann wasn't very good with names) pushed a drink into her hand with a wink before disappearing down the hall and back into the bar.</p><p>Ann examined the cocktail--it smelled very herbal and had been garnished with a sprig of charred rosemary. She expected this sort of artisanal thing from a place like Stag’s Head--all dark walls and speakeasy touches. A free drink was often among of the perks of playing a gig in a bar, but they were never this elaborate. More likely to be a beer or a glass of wine.  Maybe someone had bought it for her and the bartender was saving her the awkwardness.</p><p>There was no way some douche ordered this drink for her, though. Ann knew the douche standards — champagne or some other sparkling thing, a cosmo, something blue and dangerously alcoholic...a dessert wine...not that she didn’t like any of the douche standards. Or it could have been some peak douche—some fedora tipping  “you’re not like the other girls” sliminess—or, maybe it was something else. <em> God Ann, just enjoy the drink </em>. </p><p>Ann pushed open the back door and stepped out into the cold, safe from the noise  and testosterone that would surely overwhelm her, the undoubtedly expensive cologne that would choke her. She’d have to come back during a quieter evening and peruse their cocktail menu if all of them were crafted that well. She sat on one of the stairs leading to the parking lot, took out her sketchbook,  and savored the rest of the drink and the quiet. </p><hr/><p>Anne could not get that bass player out of her head. There was something familiar about her--she knew that face--but when she had asked Tib about her during closing, Tib had only replied that she was the lead singer’s cousin and a stand-in for their usual bassist. “You don’t even know her first name?!” Anne had growled, then immediately regretted it. She would have to ask Tib if Crow Nest--and their pretty little newcomer--would come back for a repeat performance.  </p><p>By some trick of fate, Anne found the bass player on one of those dating apps Tib had set up for her. At 3 am, bathed in the blue glow of her smartphone, Anne lay in bed and swiped through her potential matches. None of them were quite to her taste--their photos had too many filters on them, their descriptions featured acronyms she didn’t understand, or worse, spelling and grammar errors. She rarely opened the damn thing and was beginning to remember why, until there she was, face half-hidden behind a familiar-looking Fender. Anne felt something thrum in her chest that she had not felt in a long time--<em> never mind that</em>. All the same, she swiped right without bothering to read the rest of her profile and tried not to take it personally when the little “match” animation didn’t immediately appear. Anne did not pine. She did not wish or hope. She didn’t wait on people. But here she was, curled up in bed and eagerly awaiting tomorrow, hoping to see a match from the mystery fairy that had enchanted her that evening. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. sweet like cinnamon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ann, Cath, and Harriet have brunch the morning (ahem) afternoon after her gig. Shenanigans (loving, of course) ensue.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I guess there’s a lesson to be learned here that the stories that write more easily are...more fun to read. THANK YOU FOR THE COMMENTS. I was planning on getting this chapter up earlier because it was mostly-written...but then I forgot that law school is a thing that exists and has to be studied for. Whoops. </p><p>I’ve got this other idea scribbled on some notepaper--AU. Inspired by my years on the southern california coast. Beach/skate/surf life. Ann Walker is an artist and moved away from Halifax to live in a van and travel the California coast. Anne Lister grew up in Shibden Hall, but instead of inheriting Shibden from her uncle, she inherited his surf/bike/skate rental. And she skateboards. Ponytail sword Anne kind of vibes. But yeah lmk if y’all would be into reading that.</p><p>Cath is totally inspired by S1 Cath being there for Ann when she was struggling with her mental health. Ann's aesthetic in this chapter is loosely inspired by Kate Hudson in "Almost Famous" (not sure where my brain came up with that one, but we're rolling with it).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If Ann Walker's iPhone wanted to see tomorrow, it had better stop f--ing ringing in the next ten seconds. Of course, it was buried somewhere among Ann's blankets, and refused to surface. Lord, she was groggy. The gig had left her high on adrenaline--and as a result, she stayed up much too late painting and goofing around on the guitar. The ringing wouldn’t let up. Ann groaned and shook out her blanket. Her phone, as expected, clattered to the ground and continued vibrating.  Three missed calls--<em> Shit. She had forgotten about those plans to get brunch with Cath. </em>Too tired to text, Ann pressed redial--of course, Cath picked up before the first ring. “You fucking bitch! I was so worried!” </p><p>“Good morning to you too, Cath,” Ann muttered into her pillow.</p><p>“Get your arse over here. We’ve worked through a pitcher of mimosas without you.” Ann groaned--audibly, probably, seeing as she could hear Cath’s exasperated sigh from the other end. “ Look, just put me on speaker”  Ann huffed and did as she was told. “Now get out of bed.” <em> Ugh. </em>She knew she should. But she was so cozy. And she knew Cath was about to coach her through getting out of bed and out the door. It made her feel like a child, but it worked every time. “Are you out of bed?” </p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Get out of bed.” Ann took a deep breath and, after counting down from five, threw off her other blankets and sat up. Still in bed, but...upright. </p><p> “Did you take your meds?” Ann groaned and walked over to her dresser and picked up the pill bottle and a half-empty bottle of water.</p><p>“Alright, I’ve taken them.” </p><p>Cath wasted no time. “Are you getting dressed?” </p><p>“Ummmm.” Ann picked up a dress off the floor, and gave it a sniff--good enough. There were some tights and a scarf lying right next to it--Ann thanked her lucky stars. “Ok, I’m dressed” </p><p>“Good. What about shoes?” </p><p>“Uhhhh…” Ann’s eyes darted around the room looking for a pair of appropriate shoes--the vinyl boots from last night weren’t exactly brunch appropriate. </p><p>“Check the front door,” Cath reminded her. And Ann could hear her eyeroll over the phone. All the same, she padded down the hall and found a pair of platform mary-janes in a heap near the door. How did Cath always know? </p><p>“Found them!” </p><p>“Keys, phone, wallet?” Ann paused. Keys...where were her keys?? Her anxiety started swirling in her chest.  She shoved her hand in her jacket pocket and breathed a sigh of relief.  Keys, check. Phone, check. Wallet? Ann scanned the hallway and found the little backpack that usually held her wallet. She shoved her hand in, and felt the zipper of her Hello Kitty wallet. (Childish, maybe, but definitely upgrade from the clear plastic bag she had been using before). <em> Success. </em> Ann ran back to the front door </p><p>“Keys, phone, wallet.” Ann breathed, relieved and feeling very accomplished at this point.  </p><p>“Okay, kid, see you in ten. I’ll pour a mimosa for you.” </p><p>The cafe was less than ten minute’s walk from Ann’s apartment. And now, the hard part--the whole getting out of bed thing--was out of the way. Ugh, Cath was way too good at this, Ann thought as she spotted the outdoor seating area. Harriet and Cath were waving her over. Ann waved back and carefully made her way to their table. </p><p>“Hey best friend!” Ann smiled weakly at Harriet and Cath--grateful for their bright personalities, but a bit guilty she couldn’t return their effusiveness.  </p><p>Ann had barely sipped her Mimosa before Harriet launched into her favorite subject of late--Ann’s love life. “So, did you meet anyone at your gig? Lesbians love girls who play bass. At least...according to TikTok…” Harriet trailed off. Ann snorted and looked away. She knew where this would lead..with Cath jumping on an opportunity to take the piss and totally rescuing Ann from having to admit she had avoided meeting <em>anyone</em> after the gig. Except for Undercut Woman. But she wouldn't want them to get the wrong idea. Ann suppressed a shudder at the thought of getting roasted by Cath and Harriet for not asking for Undercut Woman's number or something.  </p><p> Ann completely spaced out while Harriet and Cath sparred over TikTok.  Harriet was hilariously tech inept. And, for another, was a PhD in medieval studies. And, to add insult to injury, only traded in her Nokia for a smartphone a year ago. Harriet was waving Cath off with a scoff and fixed Ann with a serious look. <em>Oh Shit. </em> Ann took a generous sip of her mimosa and hoped it would dull whatever embarrassment Harriet’s next colorful remark would inflict on her. </p><p>Harriet was clearly planning something, because she <em>waited </em>until Ann set down the champagne flute. Then, she straightened and fixed Ann with a stern expression that Ann had informally called her “professor look.” <em> Oh No. </em> “Ann,” Ann winced. Harriet’s PhD tone always had a way of making her feel like she was about to be grounded or something. “You’ve been out for months now. Old. News.” Harriet rapped the table for emphasis.  “It’s time you started getting out there.” Cath snorted from behind her mimosa flute. </p><p> “I’ve tried!” Ann protested. She waved her phone in Harriet’s face, as though it was evidence of her effort.  Cath raised an eyebrow. “Look, it’s hard to put yourself out there and meet people! And that stupid app you signed me up for -- " Ann glared at Cath. "I know you set it to women only, but there are still <em> men </em> and <em> couples.” </em>Cath's jaw dropped open, but Ann could tell the penny hadn't quite dropped. Then...it did. </p><p>"Ewwww.” Cath grimaced, but Harriet was still looking puzzled. <em> Oh no.  </em></p><p>“Wait, why would a couple be on a dating site?” Harriet's brow was wrinkled in obvious befuddlement. Ann looked scandalized and Cath blinked in shock. Was Harriet really that clueless? “Well, if you’re not going to tell me, can I have a look?" Harriet pressed. </p><p>“Why would you want to see something like <em> that </em>?” Cath sputtered, but Ann just rolled her eyes and handed her phone to Harriet. Cath’s eyes bugged out. </p><p>“Ann, you did <em> not </em>just give Harriet your phone!” Ann merely shrugged. </p><p>“Come on then, show me.” </p><p>"Don't rush me" Ann muttered as she opened Tinder. <em> Oh. </em>The first match was--wow. Unfortunately, Harriet had been watching over her shoulder and swiftly snatched the phone out of her hands. </p><p>"Oh this one's a pretty bird!" Harriet exclaimed. "You're lying, Ann. She looks all woman to me--maybe a bit butch-like." Harriet squinted a bit and <em>swiped. </em>Cath and Ann both swallowed nervously.  “ <em> OH MY GOD ANN YOU MATCHED!!!”  Oh thank goodness, she hadn't super-liked. Wait. What?  </em></p><p>Ann snatched the phone back. . There it was, plain as day. There was no mistaking the face in the other little circle. “You and AL have liked each other.” </p><p>“Hang on,” Ann grumbled as Cath grabbed the phone.</p><p>"Please don't message her." Ann pleaded.</p><p>"Don't worry, I won't" Cath absently reassured her while carefully eyeing the sparse profile. An angular face half-hidden by a mane of dark hair. An artsy picture of a tumbler of dark liquor. A silhouette of a statuesque profile. An <em> unmistakable </em>profile. A lightbulb went off. “I think that’s Anne Lister!”  Cath enthused. A  very noticeable blush immediately spread across Ann’s face and neck.  “I mean, who would be named <em> Al </em>” Cath drawled. Ann and Harriet groaned in unison. Ann hid her face in her hands. </p><p>“Oh, Ann, you’re turning red!” Harriet sputtered. </p><p>“Harriet, you’re torturing her!” Cath tried to sound serious, but in truth, was bright red and desperately trying to for restrain her own laughter. This was <em> too good </em> . Little Annie had matched with her childhood crush. Whose name she had drawn with hearts around it in primary school. <em> Too. Good.  </em></p><p>Before they could prolong the torture further, a waitress appeared at their table. “Anything more to order?” Ann dissolved into giggles as Harriet ordered her some cinnamon french toast. </p>
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